Aunty and my father looked so proud and didn’t stop grinning all afternoon. Everyone was having a good time, but Tom had sensed something coming from Dudley that was not right. Tom kept looking over at him and Dudley returned his look with smug arrogance.
Tom and I spent the reception, close up, like Siamese twins, avoiding Dudley, but I felt his eyes on me like a plague of spiders crawling over my skin.
The reception passed in a blur of sandwiches, wedding cake, cups of tea, beer, congratulations and speeches. Later in the afternoon, Tom and I went on our honeymoon. My father and Aunty Annie had given us money and told us we must use it to go on honeymoon. It was vital that a newly married couple had a honeymoon away from everyone, they said. It will give you time to get to know one another better.
In a wave of excitement, we’d chosen Barry Island, a seaside holiday town less than two hours away on the train. A real treat under normal circumstances, but now I was dreading it.
The journey was a blur to me. I don’t know what I said, or what Tom said to me. I can’t remember the scenery or the other travellers, nothing at all until we reached our guest house and it was bedtime. That was something I had to get through somehow and it loomed over me like a big, black storm about to break. I couldn’t stop thinking, how was I going to prove to Tom I was a virgin?
Would it hurt as it had with Dudley? What should I tell Tom if it hurt too much? Would I like Tom being intimate with me, or had Dudley taken that joy away?
Tom, bless him, was as gentle as a new-born pup to start with, but kept telling me to relax, which had the opposite effect. ‘It’s me,’ he kept saying, ‘me, your new husband, the man who loves you more than life itself. It’ll be good, honest it will.’
I felt sorry for him and really tried my best. None of this was his fault. Dear, sweet, Tom. He tried his best too, but I soon realised that he was not good at lovemaking, even though he had had girls before. I wondered what kind of loving they’d done – probably in dark corners somewhere, getting it over as quickly as possible before someone discovered them. That’s how it felt as his kisses got rougher and his hands were everywhere, like a starving man searching for food in an unfamiliar dark place. And his hands were miners’ hands: rough and hewn, like the coal they extracted.
I wondered what had happened to all that passion and desire I’d felt for Tom in the past, when we were fully clothed and holding back. Now, I felt nothing. No anticipation. No desire. No pleasure. Maybe, if he had taken his time – given us the time – to caress and stroke each other like we did before our wedding: arms, face, neck, shoulder, legs. We’d spend hours when we were alone, just touching each other, sharing the tingling excitement of a gentle hand eager to explore the areas of our bodies that weren’t looked upon as sinful. But it was still lovemaking: that build up to a more profound experience that could end in a baby being created. Tom had forgotten this, or thought he didn’t need to do this anymore now he had the right to have all of me. He went for the parts of my body he hadn’t been allowed to touch before. I couldn’t blame him I suppose. He was an uncomplicated soul, but I was still tender after Dudley and could not respond when my body was bombarded by Tom’s insistent attention. Pain kills passion. I discovered the truth of that. If only he had taken his time to see how I was feeling, to realise I needed gentle handling. I tried to tell him, but he said, ‘Why wait? This is what we’ve been waiting for. Oh, Kate, you’re so beautiful, I want to touch you: possess you. Touch me too, Kate. Touch me here.’
But that’s what Dudley had said, ‘Touch me, you cunt, or I’ll slash your face.’ How could I tell Tom? How could I touch him and feel desire? It was all too soon after the rape. That was my only defence. I shut down my emotions again, like I had all through my life. It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t Tom’s either. We were victims. That bastard Dudley had changed everything.
I didn’t sleep all night, while Tom slept like a baby. I spent the night in despair, thinking how I could convince him that he’d taken my virginity. I hadn’t come up with any foolproof ideas but in desperation I decided on one of them. If I could only do it well enough. It might just work. But I wasn’t an actress and had never been good at lying.
At first light, I got up very quietly. It was vital Tom didn’t wake up. I looked at my side of the sheet, and as expected, there was no blood. I crept over to my bag and took out my clean hankie and moved over to the bowl and jug in our room. I dipped my hankie in the jug of water and crept back to the bed and rubbed an area I felt was in about the right position until it was wet. I then hung my hankie over the edge of the bowl and sat in the chair and looked at Tom’s calm, sleeping face.
Forgive me, I said to him silently.
After a while, I coughed a few times until he woke up. He looked relaxed as he saw me sitting on the chair, in my dressing gown, smiling at him. A smug look settled over him, ‘Kate, my lovely Kate, how are you this morning?’ He stretched. ‘I feel so good.’
‘Me too, Tom,’ I said, making a big effort. I mustn’t spoil this for him. He’d waited for me. We had a life together now. ‘You look so smug,’ I said, smiling. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forget that look.’
‘I hope you don’t. I feel like the cat that’s got the cream.’ He let out a soft, ‘Meow, purrrr,’ as he pretended to wash his mouth with his paw. He touched my heart with his humour. I was determined to give him as good a honeymoon as I could.
It was now or never and with my heart thumping with nerves, I said the words I’d been rehearsing, praying I could do it convincingly. ‘I’ve been up a while,’ I said quietly, embarrassed, ‘and noticed there was some . . .’ I looked down, ‘blood on the sheet . . . you know . . . that . . . kind of blood.’ I blushed, and he smiled, knowingly, like a man of the world. ‘I didn’t want the landlady to see it, it would be too embarrassing, and if I’d left it, it would have been hard to remove, so I wiped it off with my hankie and some water.’ I nodded towards my drying hankie on the wash bowl.
He pulled the sheet and blankets back and looked down and put his finger over the wetness. He looked smug again and believed every word. Bless him. He reached out to me. ‘Another go?’ he said still with that smug look playing on his face. But the look of love that shone out of his eyes told me everything I needed to know and, taking off my dressing gown, I climbed back in and cuddled up to him determined to be what Tom wanted – or appear to be. But having to tell that lie to Tom was another band of hatred which was tying itself around me against Dudley.
Tom was insatiable with his lovemaking and during our honeymoon we went to bed early every night and got up as late as possible every morning. We had to leave our Bed and Breakfast place by eleven each morning and we went out to enjoy the thrills of Barry Island. I laughed with him at the fun fair, ate seafood from fairground stalls, held his arm during our walks, splashed about with him in the sea, drank soft drinks in the pubs so that Tom could have a couple of beers. Our landlady provided dinner. She was a good cook and kind with it.
It should have been the happiest time of my life, but the dread of the nights of lovemaking hovered over me. Each night, I felt like a piece of meat being used for my husband’s enjoyment. And all I could do was to let it happen – as if I was a piece of meat – not a human being, a woman who had known intense passion for the man she was now with. Things were out of my control. And as the week went on, the pain got worse. It was agony sometimes, and a cry would escape from my lips, and Tom seemed to take this as a sign of pleasure and cry out himself.
Towards the end of the week, I couldn’t take any more, it had become unbearable. I had to tell him that my down below hurt. But how to tell him? How to convince him? I decided that I had to pull myself together and forget Dudley and what he did to me. This was Tom, my Tom, so I made the excuse that he had been such an ardent, passionate lover, my body was not used to it. I was a virgin after all. My body needed time to adjust.
‘Oh,’ he said, surprised.
‘Well, we have . . . yo
u know . . . done it a lot this week. I’m not complaining, Tom, please don’t think that. I’m just sore. It’s me, it’s my fault, I have a very delicate body.’
‘Your body is wonderful,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And yes,’ he laughed, ‘we have done it rather a lot. That’s the power of you. I only have to look at you and . . . well . . . you know . . .’
‘Yes, sweet Tom. And I’m flattered. But maybe, well, maybe I could touch you? You know, rather than you touch me?’
‘You touch me?’
‘I’d like that, Tom. I would make love to you, rather than you to me. I’d like to please you.’
He was in deep thought for a while, caressing my face. ‘Yes, I see,’ he said finally. ‘Yes, I do see. If you had touched me as much, then I would be sore too. Oh, darlin’ Kate, I’ve been so selfish. I’m sorry. Yes, let’s do that – but there’s just one thing.’
He looked at me with a glint in his eye. ‘Can we start now?’
I laughed. So relieved. ‘You try and stop me,’ I said as I ran my hand down his stomach and he shivered.
I was grateful when the honeymoon ended. I knew that once Tom was back at work he would be too tired or too busy to indulge as much as we had. It was my gift to Tom, the non-stop lovemaking. Tom called it ‘loving you’. That was sweet of him. It made him vulnerable, like a child asking for something that he shouldn’t have. But my struggle against the demons Dudley left behind was overwhelming me. How I hated that man. He took everything away from me, my virginity, my faith, my peace of mind and my relationship with my husband.
Before Dudley, I wanted a good husband and many children, a family life to kill the demons I had left from my years in the care of my aunts. Now, after Dudley, I wanted this more than ever. I saw the arrival of children and a big family around me as my security blanket, my reward for enduring the pain and suffering of my early years. I wanted children I could love and who loved me in return. As far as that was concerned, I still had a fairy-tale story in my mind and I was determined to live it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We arrived back from our honeymoon at Tom’s house in time for dinner. It was a turning point that took me from my old life into the new one. His mother had prepared a mutton stew followed by apple tart and custard. It was delicious and I was ravenous, as if I hadn’t eaten all week. Tom remarked upon it.
‘I’ve had a very busy week, I’m hungry!’ I said quietly, looking into my pudding.
It made him blush and he lowered his head to his dinner and didn’t say another word. But really, I was just so pleased that the honeymoon was over and now our love life would be constrained by work demands and the presence of his mother. I relaxed and recovered my appetite.
The house was just the same as every other one on the Graig – small, two up and two down with a narrow passageway joining up the rooms. We lived mostly in the square back room which doubled as the kitchen. We kept the front room for guests and would never have dreamt of living in there ourselves. The gas cooker was in the corner of the back room with a small low cupboard next to it which contained plates and cutlery with a few shelves above it for tins and dried food. The washing bowl was kept on top of the cupboard and the water tap was outside the back door. There were two old brown leather armchairs in the corners, either side of the fireplace, one for Mrs Mallow and the other which Tom and I had to share. This meant, of course, that when Tom was in, he had the armchair and I had to make do with a wooden kitchen chair. I would never have dreamt of sitting in Mrs Mallow’s.
*
As Tom went off to work for his first day as a married man he was full of smiles. ‘I’m looking forward to my bath tonight. Don’t forget your promise to massage me wherever I want,’ he whispered as he stood in the doorway. We laughed.
‘Well, let’s see . . . how about your toes?’
‘I can think of a much better place than that.’
‘What are you two whispering about?’ Mrs Mallow said disapprovingly, as she came down the stairs. I think she was jealous.
‘Nothing!’ we said in unison like children caught doing something naughty. Tom winked at me and gave me a kiss and kissed his mother on the cheek as he left but she looked dour.
Later in the afternoon, I told Mrs Mallow that I would start to cook Tom’s rice pudding. Like many a miner, he always had a bowl of rice pudding when he came in from work as he was so hungry he couldn’t manage his bath without some nourishment. The pudding was soft and easy to digest so many miners’ wives cooked it for their husbands and sons.
‘Don’t you worry about that, I’ll do it,’ Mrs Mallow said.
‘But I’m his wife now. It’s my duty to cook it.’
‘Look, Kate, I’ve been cooking his rice pudding all his life, I’m not going to stop now,’ she said, busying herself with bowls and ingredients. ‘He’ll notice the difference.’
I was incensed but tried not to show it. ‘I know mine won’t be as good as yours, but Tom is my husband and it’s a wife’s job.’
She ignored me and just went about making the pudding. I didn’t want bad feeling between us, so decided to wait and talk to Tom about it when we were in bed. He’d back me up. I just had to bide my time.
I needed to get away from her. If I went up to our bedroom it would look childish, so the only place was the privy. ‘I’m going down the back,’ I said politely.
All of us spent a good while in the privy to get some space and read and relax, so she didn’t express any surprise when I didn’t return for half an hour.
‘All right?’ she asked as a peace offering.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said over politely.
‘Get the bath down, would you please,’ she asked equally over polite. ‘I’ll get the water on.’
I had wanted to prepare Tom’s bath too. It was my job, but I didn’t argue. I would talk to Tom tonight.
When Tom came home, he opened the front door and shouted he was home. I rushed to the door and my love surged as I saw the huge grin on his black-encrusted face peering around the doorway. He stepped just inside and I took his jacket from his outstretched arm and put it onto the newspaper laid on the floor for his dirty clothes.
‘I shook it out before I came in,’ he said.
I winked as I said, ‘Good boy. Let’s start our married life as we mean to go on.’
‘I’m all for that, and my next trick is . . .’ He undid his shirt buttons, slowly, smiling at me all the time.
‘What’s taking you so long?’ Mrs Mallow shouted from the kitchen. ‘Your rice pudding’s getting cold.’
‘Sod the rice pudding,’ Tom said quietly to me, still smiling as he started to undo his trouser buttons.
Mrs Mallow appeared at the end of the dark passageway. She was outlined by the light of the room behind her so we couldn’t see her face. ‘Get undressed quick now. Your bath is ready and I haven’t got all day.’
‘But, Mam, Kate will help me with my bath now. She’s my wife, it’s her job,’ Tom said confidently.
She walked towards us and crossed her arms over her ample chest like a challenge. ‘And who decided that? I wasn’t consulted.’ She looked from Tom to me and back to Tom. ‘Am I to be part of this family or not?’
‘Oh, Mam, of course you are, but things have to change now that Kate’s here.’
She looked daggers at me. She didn’t like any of this. But what did she expect? Things had to change.
She took me by surprise as she said, so sweetly, ‘Tom love, like I said, no one asked me and if they had I would have said that I have given you your bath since you were a baby and helped you with your bath since you were a boy collier. Your father would turn in his grave if I gave that duty to another woman. It’s my job to scrub your back and rinse you off.’
‘But, Mrs Mallow,’ I interrupted, ‘I helped my mother bath my father and my aunties with their husbands. I want to help Tom too. He’s my husband now.’
She bristled. ‘That may be so, but he’s still my son and that w
ill never change.’
She looked at me as if she thought I’d not be his wife for long. I was starting to feel panicky as I realised this was not a fight for who did Tom’s bath but for which woman would be boss in this house. This was one fight I couldn’t lose. I looked at Tom pleadingly and his mother gave him a challenging look.
He looked confused and then looked pleadingly at me. He looked at his mother and she smiled. ‘Come on, Tom, love. It’s only a bath,’ she said gently. ‘Get those dirty clothes off and come and get clean, dinner is nearly ready.’ She walked down the passage, her back straight and her stride full of purpose.
Tom looked at me and shrugged. ‘She’s right. It’s only a bath.’
Tears filled my eyes. ‘Tom, please? It’s important to me.’
‘There’s nothing more I can do,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t want a row straight off. She can be very stubborn when she wants. It’s not important.’
I watched him take off the rest of his clothes and put them carefully on the newspaper. He smiled at me and either didn’t see the tears in my eyes or chose to ignore them. I’d lost round one.
‘Get in the bath, Tom bach,’ Mrs Mallow said gently and as he settled himself in the hot water she handed him his rice pudding. I watched him scoff it down like a starving dog.
Mrs Mallow turned to me. ‘Go get his clothes from the passage, there’s a good girl, while I take care of Tom.’
I swallowed down my fury. ‘But . . . but,’ I was getting tongue-tied, ‘I’m Tom’s wife so I should be washing him and you should be taking care of his clothes,’ I challenged. I couldn’t give up without a fight.
She drew herself up to her full height, which was a couple of inches taller than me. ‘Look, as I said, I’ve washed Tom since he was a baby and I’ve no intention of changing now. Wife or not, I’m mistress in this house. Go and get his clothes and take them out the back.’
My heart was pumping fit to burst. She’d never spoken to me like that before – and in front of Tom too. Anger flew through my body until I started to shake. I wasn’t having this.
The Rocking Stone Page 13